I may see and converse with her. I will
offer no opposition to your wishes; but you will give me a week or
two."

"Do you wish to see this man again, my child?" said Mr. Hurst, "I can
trust you, Florence, decide for yourself."

Florence parted her lips to answer, but her strength utterly failed,
and with a feeble gasp she sunk powerless and fainting on her father's
bosom.

Mr. Hurst gathered her in his arms and bore her from the room, simply
pausing with his precious burden at the door while he told Jameson, in
a calm under tone, to leave the house, and wait till a message should
reach him.

But the unhappy man was in no haste to obey. For half an hour he paced
to and fro in the solitude of that large apartment, now seating
himself on the sofa which poor Florence had just left, and again
starting up with a sort of insane desire for motion. Sometimes he
would listen, with checked breath, to the footsteps moving to and fro
in the chamber over-head, and then hurry forward again, racked by
every fierce passion that can fill the heart of a human being.

"I _will_ triumph yet! I _will_ see her, and that when he is not near
to crush every loving impulse as it rises. Once mine, and he will
never put his threat into execution, earnest as he seemed. All my
strength lies in her love--and it is enough. She suffers--that is a
proof of it. She is angry--that is another proof. Yes, yes, I can
trust in her, she is all romance, all feeling!"

Jameson muttered these words again and again; it seemed as if he
thought by the sound of his voice to dispel the misgiving that lay at
his heart. He would have given much for the security that his muttered
words seemed to indicate, and as if determined not to leave the house
without some further confirmation of his wishes, he lingered in the
room till its only light flashed and went out in the socket of its
tall silver candlestick, leaving him in total darkness. Then he stole
forth and left the house, softly closing the street door after him.

CHAPTER III.

Oh! wert thou still what once I fondly deemed,
All that thy mien expressed, thy spirit seemed,
My love had been devotion, till in death
Thy name had trembled on my latest breath.

* * * * * * *

Had'st thou but died ere yet dishonor's cloud
O'er that young heart had gathered as a shroud,
I then had mourned thee proudly, and my grief
In its own loftiness had found relief;